


underneath it all

by calcelmo



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sex, Episode Tag: S08E02, First Time, I think?, I'm so upset this is a rarepair..., M/M, PWP but I wish it had plot, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcelmo/pseuds/calcelmo
Summary: Clegane and Dondarrion. Having sex. In a tower. Before the Battle of Winterfell.





	underneath it all

**Author's Note:**

> tragically I seem to be alone in picking up on this ship. rip

Arya came and went, then it was just the two of them. He was glad. He wanted to get utterly shitfaced, but Beric was never going to let him do that before a battle, and probably for the best. Who knew what trouble Arya would have got him into. In retrospect, nothing like this.

"Not rushing to spend your final night in a warm bed?"

"Right here's fine," Sandor answers, then gives a smile with too much teeth. "Spending time with old friends."

"I wonder if you'd like to do more than spend time," Beric replies, completely without inflection, the picture of innocence.

Clegane plays it cool, scarcely able to believe what the man is saying. "I always knew you were a cocksucker," he drawls. "Is that what you and that flaming bastard priest got up to?"

Beric smiles indulgently. He's always doing that in the face of the Hound's insults and it makes him feel like a twat.

"If you want to spend your last night alone, Clegane, that's your decision," he says. He's serious now, his green eye reflecting fire shining in the dark.

Sandor finds it hard to come up with a response to that. The buzz of the wine joins the heat pooling in his gut that he so often forces down to ignore. He hasn't got laid in months.  
 Does it really matter if the body you want to warm you has a cock?  
He huffs, throws the wineskin to the side.

 "Come on then, you bent twat," he mutters.

 Beric grins and stands up abruptly, disappearing into one of the towers, not waiting up for Clegane.  
_Have I gone mad?_ he thinks as he gets up to follow him.

*

"Have you ever done this before?" Beric asks, like that's a legitimate think to ask, like any man worth his sword spends his time spread out with a prick up his arse, or balls deep down a bloke's throat.  
If looks could kill, Beric would be dead right now.

"Alright," the man snorts. He steps closer. "Don't do anything stupid if you don't like it. Just tell me."

Sandor feels anticipation curl inside him. "Just get on with it."

Beric sighs. It's almost fond. He starts taking off his armour, piece by piece, not even making a show of it. Sandor just stands there like a lost sheep, knowing it's stupid to look away, but feeling awkward staring. 

"You can take yours off too," Beric suggests. Anyone else would have said it in a mocking way, but no. This is Lord Beric Dondarrion, Champion of R'hllor, who's nothing if not patient. Sandor bites back a retort and starts to strip. His armour falls to the floor heavily, his shirt and breeches, till he's standing there in his smallclothes. 

"What the fuck am I doing," he says disdainfully. Beric looks up and grins. He takes steps forwards to close the distance between them and grabs a fistful of Sandor's undershirt. 

"If you try to kiss me I'll rip your balls off," he growls. Maybe it sounds dumb.  _By all means sit yourself down on my cock, but try to kiss me, and you'll regret it._ Beric nods. One of his hands snakes down to cup Sandor's cock through fabric and he blinks a little, feeling arousal lance through him. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he lets Beric slip his into his underclothes and close his fingers around his hardening cock.

He grabs Beric's arms, who glances up to see if it's a warning. Sandor gives him an imperceptible nod, swallowing, and then he keeps going, jacking him off with a rough, calloused hand. It's always been a marvel to him that someone else's hand can feel so much better than his own, but this is something more. Perhaps it's because it's been so long, or maybe he's a sick fucker who's always secretly liked men. He huffs and tries to focus on the sensation instead of letting his thoughts run away with him. 

His fingers dig into Beric's arms, leaving marks as he gets closer. This isn't how sex works; one person doesn't just stand there while the other does all the work (unless you're paying them, and Sandor really fucking isn't) but he just doesn't know what to  _do._

He's never been a selfish lover, though, and Beric's patient touch is making him mellow and reckless. "What should I do?" he mutters, leaning closer.

Beric doesn't stop, but he makes eye contact. "Do what I'm doing."

Sandor takes one hand off Beric's arm and puts it on Beric's bare cock, hard and slick at the head, and begins to jack him off in the same way he'd do for himself. Beric closes his eye, bites his lip to stop a low groan from escaping, and bucks slightly into the touch. "That's it," he whispers.

This is the strangest situation he's ever been in. He has no idea how he'd justify this if, say, Lady Stark happened by. He can see Beric's scars up close, really close, and he can't really take his eyes away.

Beric rests his head on Sandor's chest for a second, and he doesn't object, getting into the rhythm of... pulling off another man. 

"Do you want to fuck me?" Dondarrion asks. He lifts his head to see Sandor's reaction, stilling his hand for a second.  

"What?" Clegane narrows his eyes. "You mean... up the arse?"

Beric snorts. He'd been doing well to keep in his laughter. "Yes," he answers, though the amusement in his voice is tempered by arousal. 

"We're in Winterfell," he says slowly, "about to die. And your final request is that _I fuck you in the arse?"_

"You don't need to be such a prude about it," Beric shrugs. "It will feel good. I promise."

"Oh, you promise, Dondarrion?" Sandor shakes his head.  _Ah, fuck it,_ he thinks. "Fine."

 Beric takes the rest of his clothes off and drags Sandor down into the dirt with him. The torches on the round tower walls aren't enough to keep them warm in the winter night and he shivers. "Spit on your fingers. Try and be gentle," he instructs. Sandor obeys, grimacing, in admiration of Beric's shamelessness. He presses his spit-slicked fingers to the cleft of the man's arse and rubs them at his rim. 

"Good," Beric breathes. "Keep... adding spit. One finger at a time. After three, you can put it in."

Sandor is concentrating hard on the task. His prick softens a little. This is just strange, taboo, unnatural... there's a long list of words he could use, but they all seem to disappear from his mind when Beric starts panting softly when he spits and adds a second finger. 

It's quiet. In this room, only the crackle of the flickering torches and Beric's breathing can be heard, but outside, the low rumble of voices. Soldiers gathering for the final battle. The two of them, cocooned up here in a safe little bubble, taking solace in each other before they're led to the death. 

He spits again and adds a third finger, feeling Beric's arse is stretched tight. The man gasps and winces. Sandor stops for a second, then keeps going when Beric makes an impatient gesture. 

His cock hardens again as he thinks of how tight it's going to be. 

"Come on, Clegane," Beric croaks. 

He withdraws his fingers and Beric sighs raggedly. He positions himself, prick nudging at Beric's hole, wondering how he's going to fit without hurting him. He spreads more slick over his cock and pushes the head inside slowly going further. 

Beric jams his knuckles into his mouth. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Sandor mutters angrily. Beric doesn't answer for a second, breathing harshly.

"It's alright," he says, opening his eye and looking directly at the Hound who looms over him as he's pressed into the ground. "I'll be alright."

Sandor grits his teeth. The pressure around his cock is maddening. It twitches inside Beric's arse but he forces himself to stay still. "How are you enjoying this?" he asks, almost berating him for letting him do this. He does wonder, though. A cunt is made to stretch for a cock, but an arse is not.

"It gets better," Beric says wryly. "Keep going."

He does. He pushes in deeper, holding his breath, till he bottoms out and lets it go in a sharp exhale. 

"Good?"

"Fuck. Yes, it is," Sandor admits, and Beric grins against the pain.

He pulls back and pushes back in, steadily building up a rhythm, trying not to go too hard and injure Beric. But his restraint only gets him so far, and Beric's bitten off moans and scrabbling fingertips at his shoulders spur him on to go faster. It's hot and tight, milking him for all he's worth and in the mix of lust and bewilderment he also feels a fervent gratitude.  _I'm glad you let me do this._

The pleasure keeps building, surrounding him as he rocks into Beric harder and harder. Taking pity, he moves to kneel so he has a hand free to wrap around Beric's neglected prick, coaxing it back to hardness as he ruts into him. The other man slings an arm round his neck, drawing him closer.

"I'm going to come," Sandor tells him roughly. "Do you-"

"N-no, go on," Beric grits out. "Do it."

His thrusts become less rhythmic, hips stuttering a little as he loses control and gives in to the feeling. Beric knots his fingers in his hair and kisses him, and _trust_ the conniving little bastard to break his only rule, but he doesn't give a shit at this point and happily returns the kiss, albeit messily. By the end, they're just panting into each other's mouths, and Sandor diverts to bite into Beric's shoulder to muffle a cry as he comes, spilling inside him. 

He slows, well aware Beric hasn't come yet, but taking a few seconds to recover. He doesn't want to lay all his weight down onto the other man but sweat is cooling on his skin and he starts to feel cold. He gently pulls out, his softening cock smeared with a little blood, and watches his come drip out of Beric's hole.  

Normally, he'd feel like shit. He doesn't make a habit of fucking friends, and _never_ male friends- not that he has so many- but it usually feels like the worst crime he's ever committed and he just wants to get away. Right now, it's a mix of careless _who-cares-we're-dead-soon_ hysteria and deathly calm. 

Beric starts to gather himself up, avoiding eye contact, but Sandor grabs him, maybe a little rougher than necessary.

"Sit down, you're not finished," he orders gruffly. He pulls Beric so his back is against his chest and curls one arm around his middle, pinning him in place. The other hand goes to tug at his still-hard cock, weeping pre-come and desperate for touch. To which he obliges, grip mercifully tight and pace fast.

"Fuck," Beric hisses, and comes without warning, coating Sandor's hand in white fluid. He wrinkles his nose and wipes his hand on Beric's undershirt, the owner of which is too tired to object.

They stay like that for some time, warming each other up in some sort of nancy cuddle. Sandor wants to roll his eyes, but then he lets himself have this one little thing. He likes the smell of Beric's hair, like ash and smoke.

"I'm sorry I kissed you," Beric remarks, tilting his head up as it rests on Sandor's shoulder.

"I knew you couldn't resist," he replies dryly.

Beric twists in his arms to kiss him again. Sandor squeezes his throat in warning, but kisses him back anyway.

"Right," he says brusquely, knowing it's going to go too far and he might never leave this fucking tower. "Now we've got that out of our systems, we've got a war to win. Get off the floor and clean yourself up."

Beric disentangles himself and starts putting his clothes back on, with a wince that Sandor picks up on. He doesn't comment. This was Beric's choice, and he intitiated it. Although he still feels a little guilty about hurting him. Or was that what pansy sex is always like?

He sighs. They'll both need a wash after that mess. They leave the tower and Sandor stops to pick up the wineskin he'd left earlier, downing its contents then chucking it to Beric, who doesn't even bother to check if there's anything left, doing that fond, indulgent smile instead. 

They'll be alright.

 

 


End file.
